This chapter threw me for a doozy, what with my busted finger and not getting the atmosphere right the first...three times I attempted it. Hopefully once my finger heals up, things will get better.

Atmosphere

"Can't believe it's almost November," said John almost wistfully, leaning on his hand and looking out the front window of Angelo's. Sherlock, it seemed, had a preference for window seats and made sure he secured one in every restaurant.

"What's so hard to believe about it, John?" said Sherlock crisply, quickly scooping noodles into his mouth. "The passing of time isn't anything different than what's it's ever been."

John's eyes shifted to his flatmate, his face flickering in the light of the candle Angelo had placed in between them. It highlighted the strange contours of Sherlock's sharply defined face, casting shadows beneath his sharp cheekbones, creating dramatic contrasts of alabaster and dark gray beneath his eyes, on his forehead, and across his neck. John looked away.

Now's the time to tell him if there ever was one, he thought. Just get it done with.

John opened his mouth to speak but found he was cut off by Sherlock, who had similarly started to state something but hadn't noticed John. "Jim," began Sherlock, "texted me earlier. Says he'd found information on a case I'd been curious about a few years back...ten years ago, was it? Yes."

John closed his mouth, a heaviness settling in his stomach. "...Oh. That's great, Sherlock. You want to tell me which case this was?"

"Ten years ago a young man by the name of Carl Powers died. Drowned in a swimming pool. He was a competitive swimmer. Everything matched up just right, really, but something had always lingered in the back of my mind as being wrong, John. And here, now I've been presented with information that could actually give this case a more sound resolution!"

"And can I ask where Jim got this information?"

Sherlock waved away John's comment with his fork. "Found old evidence records somewhere, he said."

"That doesn't sound quite right, Sherlock-"

"Oh John, does it matter?" asked Sherlock in exasperation. "I've already begun looking into it and everything Jim's given me so far has opened up new doors to this, and all of them correct."

John went silent, looking down at his spaghetti. "Right," he said after a moment. "That's great, then, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked almost wistful, if Sherlock could really look that way. "It's so nice to find another enthusiast, and a valuable one!"

John's eyebrows furrowed. "Aren't I 'an enthusiast' too, Sherlock? I do go with you to every case. That takes quite a bit of enthusiasm."

"No, it's more or less obligation on your part. You're doing this for your paycheck."

John decided that it wasn't worth telling Sherlock that that was then; now he went to cases because he enjoyed it- the atmosphere, the people, being with Sherlock- hell, he even thought it was fun.

He tried to ignore the bowling ball in his stomach and the desert in his mouth. "Sherlock...about Jim...I..."

Sherlock looked up at John expectantly, fork midway to his mouth.

John lost his courage. "Hope you two have fun."

"I'm sure we will," said Sherlock with a shrug, finishing the fork's path to his mouth.

John's phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket, trying to dispel the weight settling on his chest. What the hell was that, John Watson...

He peered at his phone and furrowed his brows.

You'll have to forgive him, dear John. He goes through phases like this where he can't recognize the importance of what's in front of him. Ask him about Christmas. MH

...MH? Who's- ah. Mycroft. John bit back a smile. Well, whatever he's spouting off about now doesn't make much sense to me...how does he know my number, much less what we're...?

He glanced around and sure enough caught a security camera winking merrily (well, in his mind it was, seeing as it was Mycroft) at him from a corner.

"Mycroft says to ask you about Christmas?" John said, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

Sherlock looked almost taken aback. "...Can't imagine why. No, I can, actually. Do you have any plans, John?"

John considered this. "Ah, no. Not really. When I left for university I kind of lost touch with my mother and sister. We talk and all, but we don't really get together for holidays. It had never been a thing for us in the first place, though." He shrugged and took a sip of his tea.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair gracefully. "I see. Now, would you be opposed to going home with me for Christmas?"

John nearly spat out his drink. "You really want me to?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't. Clearly Mycroft wants you to go too. I daresay that my parents are rather eager to get their hands on you as well."

John suddenly had the image of a pride of lions or other wildcats prowling around him and he gave a little shudder. "Do they really."

"Oh yes. Mummy keeps asking when she's going to meet my 'new friend'. Mycroft must've let you out of the bag then, hmm?"

"It appears so," chuckled John, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Where does the Holmes family live?"

"A little ways outside of Devon," supplied Sherlock, finishing his food. "Are you going to finish your caesar salad?"

"No, you can have it."

Sherlock reached across the table and scooted John's salad over his way. "Thank you. Now John, I'm afraid you'll have to be subject to the interrogations of my family, for my entire extended shall be there, not just my nuclear. The small village outside of Devon that we live in isn't only Holmses, but it's a fair good lot of us. It was founded by a many-times great grandfather, so just about everyone is connected to a Holmes in some way or another."

John chuckled. "Sounds...quaint. And I'll be interrogated by all of you?"

"Most definitely."

"On what subject?"

"Everything."

"And how many of you are there?"

Sherlock smirked. "Ninety-seven."

Prompt was #10: gray

The chapter title is what it is because of the shifted atmosphere between them and as a nod to how much trouble I had trying to get it right. Mehhh.